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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830891">The Forest is calling (can't you hear it whisper?)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayuri/pseuds/Kayuri'>Kayuri</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mint_Mint/pseuds/Mint_Mint'>Mint_Mint</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Calling out, twisting and everchanging [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Hat in Time (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allusions to Murder, Allusions to death, Body Horror, Disabled Character, Gen, Genius Loci, Major character death joins the tags, OC's slowly turn into canon characters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Transformation, Subcon Forest is alive, Tags May Change, This was totally self indulgent, Transformation, University Setting, Unsettling, a lot of allusions to death in general, as I've been told Subcon is a Genius Loci here, characters are never named, i guess this can count as a sort of gothic and dark academia, marked as completed but if I get ideas chapters will be added, not exactly graphic but it happens, so I better tag that, sorry dear tag wranglers, tfw the forest next to your campus is alive and slowly changes you, yes that is a tag now we have on screen death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:02:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28830891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayuri/pseuds/Kayuri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mint_Mint/pseuds/Mint_Mint</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a forest next to the university. Few enter, few leave. It is quiet. It is empty. It is alive. And it yearns.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nameless Students &amp; Subcon Forest (yes the forest is a character here), OFC &amp; OFC, Original female character &amp; Original nonbinary character &amp; Original nonbinary character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Calling out, twisting and everchanging [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2119314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Monarch</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a very self indulgent work, that I only wrote because the fanfic I <em>actually</em> want to work on is at a roadblock rn. So here you get what my brain churns out during lockdown and with a minor case of cabin fever. 3 of 4 chapters are done, and I most likely manage the last chapter this week.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest celebrates</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's easy to lose your humanity. It's easy for it to slip through your fingers. It's easy to not even notice until it's too late.</p><hr/><p>You don't know when you discovered the forest. You also don't know how long it has stood here. What you do know is that it feels strangely peaceful to be here. And so you stay, explore until you become tired. You come back the next day. And the one after. You come back until you know the forest. You come back until you know every overgrown and glowing mushroom. You come back until you know every cranny of the trees, until you know that the nooses hanging from the treetops take you up if you yank on them. You come back until you know that the statues follow, if they get beheaded. Until you know where the Graves wrapped in security tape lie. Until you know where the snow comes in with relentless cold, and where the never ending fire burns. You come back until you know the dilapidated village and overgrown paths that lead to a heart tree. You come back until this feels normal, until the town feels strange and lacking. You come back until you know the forest like the back of your hand.</p><hr/><p>You feel more at home in the forest than the dorms nowadays. You feel more at home between the brambles and shadows, in the dilapidated village than you ever did in the city. You feel more at home in the gargantuan lab across the canyon, more at home when swinging through the treetops along lanterns and nooses. You know the forest like the back of your hand. You know of the gargantuan bones resting in the swamp, of the bells that lie abandoned and yet not tarnished. You feel more at home here than in the dorms. And so you wander, you wander and wonder about what happened here, why everything looks so freshly abandoned and yet… dead. You dare not wander towards the frozen parts. Your gut feeling tells you not to, and so you stay in the forest proper.</p><hr/><p>You come back to the dorms with bits and pieces of the forest. Dark purple chips of wood in your pockets. Glasses filled with glowing fungi, jars filled with swamp water that possesses the power to unscrew the jar by itself even this far from home. It unnerves your dorm mates. You laugh it off. It's just wood, just fungi, just swamp water. Why are they unnerved by it? You don't know when your laughter became so raucous. It's loud now, makes you seem larger than you are, fills you with confidence. It's raucous and feels right. It feels right, like the pieces of forest on the windowsill and in your jacket.</p><hr/><p>You don't know when the other students started to avoid you. Your laughter startles them with the volume, your smile seems an edge too sinister. It makes you laugh louder, and you absently wonder when it started to echo. You stay up later and later, venture into the library. You end up in the section for law students, begin to read. You read and read and read, devour book after book, understand the concepts with a startling ease, until the librarian taps your shoulder with a chuckle. It's past curfew and she would like to close up. Next to you is a tower of already read books. On your other side are two books left unread, and one in your hands is thumbed open at the quarter mark. She lets you borrow that book before escorting you back to your dorm. It's a book about the laws in medieval kingdoms.</p><hr/><p>The other students whisper. They whisper about your too sharp grin, about how you switched majors and focus on law now, about how your laughter feels unnatural. You ignore them, and instead venture into the forest. You stay there until your eyes glow golden with anger and until embers swirl in your mouth, until your unrest abates in favor of peace. You stay until you wander to the heart tree and the gargantuan brambles in front that make for a natural staircase. You stay until you wander inside and fall asleep, until you wake with the idea of furnishing this alcove, of renewing the fencing. It feels right. You spend the weekend lugging furniture in the tree with startling ease, shove it around until it feels homely. A closet, an old grandfather clock, a rug, and an oversized chair and a fitting ottoman. It's homely. You install an unmarked mailbox as a joke before you turn to repair the fencing. You get it done a few hours before you have to leave again. You already yearn for the next time you can visit. You feel more at home in this forest where dead things sleep than the city.</p><hr/><p>Your dorm mates actively avoid you. You scare them with your sharp smiles, with your laughter, with your actions. You scare them, and it feels strangely right. You wonder for a while before disregarding it. You're acing your law classes. You don't have to feel uncertain. You start going into the forest after school now. You still have the book you got from the library that night, and you read it in the oversized chair, the light from the forest enough to enable you to discern the words. You don't remember how you stumbled into the woods the first time and saw almost nothing. You just got used to the forest, is all. You hand the book in a while later, instead you take one for engineering with you. You repair the old clock station at the side of the path, replace the wooden bench, make the path traversable. You stay until the forest is yours, until you know that this forest <em> is </em> yours. Your eyes are golden and embers swirl in your mouth.</p><hr/><p>You graduate. It doesn't feel like a win, but it is a step forward. You take your jar of swamp, your glass of fungus and your pieces of wood, and vacate the premises. You don't see your parents amongst the ones coming to congratulate their children. You don't mind. You pack up instead, move to the forest. You step inside, exhale. Your eyes glow golden, embers leave your mouth. You spent enough time here to make the forest habitable, if one knows every cranny. You know it like the back of your hand, and take up residence in the tree. You live there until someone else steps inside, until they startle at the sight of you. They stammer, flinch at the sight of your sharp teeth and claws, at the way your hair frames your head like a mane, at the way your laugh and voice echo. They leave the forest as fast as they can, and the wild smile becomes a permanent fixture on your face. Shadows dog your steps.</p><hr/><p>More people come, and each of them loses their bravado at the sight of you. You become entrenched in the forest, more than you already are. Your hands resemble claws, your hair became a mane and you have fangs for teeth. Your eyes glow gold, gold and fiery, and you have embers filling your mouth. The shadows cling and do not leave you, and you do not remember the last time you ate or slept. You do not need to. The forest sustains you. And in return, you sustain it with our presence. You stay and haunt the forest, you know when people enter. Every time they flee in terror, until you start to block their way with brambles shooting from the ground. You laugh at them and their misfortune, bend the shadows to your will and make them run errands for you. They comply, too afraid of your form. You aren't human, not anymore. You are Shadow and Bramble, Fire and Death. You grin when you watch the damned who enter run like headless chickens, and eventually you release a few from their chores so they would tell of you. More people come.</p><hr/><p>The forest is a place for the Dead. It isn't made for the living, but aside from you they are the only ones truly sentient here. So you dig out your old things and sew. Sew until you have containers, until you have vessels. The Graves are disturbed, and you entice the restless spirits to take up residence in the dolls. A body in exchange for servitude. They do not mind. Your forest grows, the living are frightened. The students from your old campus dare each other to enter your forest. Few of them ever leave. Many cannot. One of them is the first time you swallow a soul. The girl fell from the treetops and didn't land right. She isn't strong enough to become one of your minions. And so you swallow what is left of her, and tie the knot to the forest. They call you the Soul Snatcher after someone finds her corpse at the edge.</p><hr/><p>The forest rejoices. The Monarch is back. The forest shall not die. In this place, where dark things lie and the dead sleep, humans shall not wander. Humanity slips easier than you think.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Puppeteer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest bolsters.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You know the rumors. Everyone does. The forest swallows people, and few ever come back. At least, that’s what they say. You take it with a grain of salt. And even if you could, the rumors apply to people </span>
  <em>
    <span>walking</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the forest. You can’t walk most of the days. Prosthetic legs only carry you so far. You trust your wheelchair more. Even then, you listen to the rumors. It wouldn’t do to be caught off guard.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You avoid people. They don’t quite make sense. Irony, considering you are a Theater Major. You play pretend, and hope no one notices. Your teacher delegates you towards using puppets instead of standing on stage yourself. You prefer it this way. The puppets aren’t much to look at. Old. Hinges that haven’t been oiled in decades, and strings that weren’t replaced in just as many years, wood that is rotting. You don’t care. Your father taught you woodworking, and you can easily put these back into shape. You grin. This might actually be good.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The Forest swallows people. You have seen it yourself. People you chatted with two days ago go inside on a dare, and either come back with a thousand yard stare or wrapped in bramble and a body bag. The echo of laughter is audible near the edge. You watch the pathways. Not once have your wheels ever caught in the thorns and bramble, even when those you accompany have lacerations across their shins and torn slacks. You don’t ask. Asking warrants interaction. Asking warrants thinking about the thing inside the shadows, with eyes glowing gold and a mouth that swirls with embers.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You know the rumors. Two years ago, a student entered the forest and came back. They entered every day, every week, every month, and came back. No one quite remembers what their name was, or if they were a guy or gal, but the fact remains. They entered the forest and came back. Some of the older students remember encountering them. You talk to them occasionally. One of them remembers them suddenly switching majors. Another remembers their laugh and how it was raucous and chilling both. Another remembers amber eyes and sharp teeth. No one remembers their name. You end up following the rumor of them spending all night in the law book section. The librarian still remembers them, even years later. When you ask, she laughs and smiles. She remembers them fondly, as a student who treated the books with utmost care even when going somewhere else with them. They favoured one book amongst them all. You borrow it. It’s about law in medieval times. You wonder why you took it with you. You don’t do law. Then you decide to rebuild one of the puppets into a character. One who feasibly could know this. The forest looms, and you hear the rumors.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Everyone ends up in the forest eventually. Some traverse the outer edges. Others enter and don’t come back. Those who do tell of the brambles, of a leering grin and twitching shadows. You feel sturdier today, and put on the prosthetic legs. Your bag isn’t too full. A water bottle, some sandwiches, a puppet, a maintenance kit. You lean on your crutches and watch the ground as you walk. You sidestep brambles, avoid the twitching shadows you see, and stay near the pathways until you reach a clearing. You sink onto the ground, remove the prosthetics and take out the puppet. You feel unusually safe here. It’s quiet. No people who stare at you, or your legs. Only the whispering leaves, the creaking of old wood and the rustle of whatever passes for wildlife moving in the underbrush. You ignore it, and start to sand down the puppet, cut off the old strings. Your fingers ache. So do your hips and what should have been your legs. That isn’t unusual. You close your eyes for a moment, before continuing your work. The strings you replace cut into your skin, paper thin cuts left behind. You don’t bother with them. They will heal. The work on the puppet is easy, monotonous and runs smoothly, and after a few hours you can move every single part as smoothly as you want. You pack up your things at that and snap the prosthetics back on. You sidestep the brambles and make it to the campus unscathed. One classmate asks you where you were. You answer. Everyone ends up in the forest eventually. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You haven’t quite noticed it until now, but with your one day out, you became the newest rumor. You entered the forest and came back unscathed. You scoff at that. Your hands tell a different story. The cuts from strings and brambles left silvery scars, and you gladly show them when someone stutters at you. You don’t care for the rumors, but listen anyways. It doesn’t do to be surprised. Your teacher approves of that, and watches your performances with the puppets with increasing smiles. She tells you that your talent is exceptional. You personally don’t quite believe it. The strings still cut your fingers, and sometimes the puppets jerk when they shouldn’t. She tells you that most people avoid the puppets because they can’t move them at all. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>People avoid you, and you avoid them. It’s as easy as that. They avoid you because you entered the forest and came back unscathed. Because you use the puppets they declare haunted. You avoid them because they’re fickle, and… you don’t have fun when talking to them. You don’t have fun when hanging out. So you don’t. Instead, you head into the library and talk with the librarian, and if the stifling humanity of the campus becomes too much, you strap on your prosthetics and go to the forest. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You find old jars and glasses with fungi and swamp water near your clearing. Wax stamps with leering grins on them are on a nearby piece of paper. You raise your eyebrow at them, but pocket them anyways. The paper is carefully stored, and you plan on hiding it from your peers. It’s yours. Not theirs to dissect. And so, you go to restring another puppet. The cuts on your hand don’t bother you. The bramble may have cut you, and the strings deepen them, but you don’t care. You hum while working, and by the time you focus next, the strings are red. If they are from the blood of your hands or always were, you don't know. The scrapes of the bramble sting, and the strings do not glisten. So you assume you took the wrong strings, and begin to pack up. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>They talk. They always talk. Some wonder if you get swallowed up soon. Others wonder if you came from the forest before coming to the campus. One person mutters about you having met the Soul Snatcher that supposedly dwells there. You shake your head at them all. You just restring your puppets. Nothing else. The puppet with the red strings responds to your motions better than the one with the other strings. You smile at the grade you recieve, and at the spot in the school play. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Once again, the people stifle you, and you go to the forest. Today, it’s on wheels. Your legs ache, and you don’t plan on staying for too long. It’s winter, and the cold isn’t good. You curse that thought later, when your wheels get stuck and snow howls across your clearing. You burrow into your jacket, teeth chattering, and close your eyes. The storm keeps up, and at some point you swear that the coldness is going to turn you into an ice block. Blackness dances in your vision, and you don’t trust your eyes when you see moving shadows, glowing gold and embers swirling. You only notice your numb limbs slowly growing warmer, and your limited knowledge of frost related injuries is ringing the alarm bells. Death by freezing somehow includes people feeling too warm by the end. You see moving shadows and hear distant voices, but you don’t trust your senses. It’s too cold. Later, they tell you that the teachers found you at the edge of the forest with a broken wheelchair and frostbite of the third degree. Your arm is blue in places, and the doctor says that it is luck that you sit in a wheelchair, because your toes would have frozen off in that cold. You see it as a mixed blessing. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Even weeks later, the blue is not gone. Your muscles in your arms are weak, and you have trouble getting to class until your chair is repaired, but you bear with it. People help you, again. The rumors that the forest and its inhabitants favor you don’t abate, if anything they became worse. Someone says that your chair had gargantuan claw marks at the handles, another says that brambles wrapped around the spokes like decoration. You listen to the rumors and have to grudgingly admit that they ring true. You don’t tell them of the leering grins on the wax, of the glowing gold and embers you saw in the snow, of the way your puppets now always have red strings on them that never tear, of the way the fungi and swamp water calm you. You know the rumors, and you feel like a pawn in a story. You dislike that feeling. The numbness of your blue skin burns at the edge.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You still take part in the play. You loom in the rafters, manipulate the strings. Red as they are, they should be obvious. And yet, people don’t see them. You manipulate them too deftly, thin fingers wrapped around them and clad in gloves to hide the advancing frostbite. You believe the rumors now. The frost and snow weren’t normal. Otherwise you would have healed already. You feel cold. You always do, and the numbness spreads. You wear layers and layers, and your eyes are bloodshot. And yet, the play goes flawlessly. No unwanted shudder of wooden limbs, no visible strings. You smile, and your teeth scrape the edge of your lips.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>Your chair is repaired, and there are indeed brambles on the spokes. Thin and almost imperceptible, but there. You don’t feel them when pushing the wheels, but the bullies who grab them do. You smile at them when it happens. Frostbite blue dots your lips, and they recoil. You see the look of the teachers, and use make up to conceal the blue, if only so they don’t send you to the hospital again. You plan to graduate soon. Hospital would complicate it. Your lips are numb, and your fingers shake, but whenever your hands are wrapped in red string it stops, and so you take to wrapping short lengths of it around your gloves. You smile at the teachers and visit the forest in the evenings. You see the glowing gold and leering grin in the shadows, and when you sidestep the bramble circles you nod at the being. They saved your life, and deserve recognition. You hear a distant echoing laugh after you do that. It seems more inviting to you than the noise of the campus, but you see how a fellow student that followed you flinches at the noise and walks right into the brambles. It’s too late for him, you know that. You leave him, and find a village populated with twisting spirits and twitching shadows living in trees. You lean against the nearby fungus, and start to relax amongst what is not natural.</span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You plan on going on stage exactly once, and that is in the graduation play. You fashioned a mask for it, and clothes. You remember the first puppet you wanted to restring and turn into this character, but this feels right. And so you put on the costume, wrap the manacles around your blue limbs, and smile. The mask is only a half mask, but the seam between it and your face is near imperceptible. The blue is no make up. You sit on a tree, weaving strings, and tell the main actor of the kingdom that used to stand before it fell to frost and snow, to bitter cold and jealousy. Your laugh titters and echoes slightly, and it reminds you of the being of the forest. Your teeth scrape ice blue lips, and you whisper to the actor that it was too late to save the last residents. This time, your red strings are openly visible, and it makes the applause ring. You smile, and you get top grades. You graduate, and leave the forest and university behind. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You still have the swamp water and the fungus, the puppets with red strings, and you know that the city is not your place anymore. Your parents saw the extent of the frostbite, heard the rumors. They know of the forest, and also of the student who disappeared. They love you, and drive to the edges of gnarled wood, shadows and brambles with you, follow your steps. You show them your clearing, and they see the way your face lights up, the way your now mismatched eyes widen in joy and the frostbite blue skin around your lips pulls into a smile. They see it, and they understand. The forest claimed you long ago, and while they loathe to admit it, they know that it will always pull you back. They see the leering grin in the shadows but do not flinch at the laugh. They stand tall and help you carve out your clearing into a home. They promise that they will visit. They promise to not forget you. You hope they won’t, but deep down you also know and feel that the forest would make them forget you if it means that you stay. You laugh at the forest later. They won’t forget. You wrapped the memories in red, and sing of their love in the moonlight. The forest listens, and acknowledges. You hardly resemble the fresh student who came into the forest years ago. Frostbite claims your skin, and manacles clink on your wrist. Your prosthetics lie forgotten in a corner, and you pilot through the air on strings hanging onto the air itself. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>You meet the Soul Snatcher properly a week after you make your home in the forest. He grins and leers, and fondly tells of the time he tied the knot to the forest. You tell your tale in return, and that you threatened the forest. He laughs. Later, a student wanders inside, sees you both. You smile at them from your perch of strings in the air, and shortly after, the rumors start. The forest swallows people. The Soul Snatcher dwells not alone in there, another major being resides now in there. Limbs thin and blue, head crescent and eyes mismatched they call you the Moonjumper. </span>
</p><hr/>
<p>
  <span>The forest bolsters. Its Monarch thrives, and the puppeteer pilots the intruders. The forest will not die. In this place, where dark things lie and dead things sleep, humans shall not wander. Shadows are not the only thing that steals humanity. The frost does it better than you think. Keep away from the cold.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Forest's Bane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest shudders.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The wind tears at your clothes when you look at the forest. The stories are numerous, and the evidence as well. Students enter, students die. You dislike those stories, and the empty desks and seats even more. You know the stories, you know of the Soul Snatcher. You know of his accomplice they call the Moonjumper. Both creatures that shouldn’t exist, rumored to be former students both. You yourself were part of the group of students that discovered that wheelchair bound student frozen half to death, and you remember the way said student smiled and piloted red stringed puppets in the plays. You stare at the forest and swear to yourself that you will catch them both. You need to, so the students will be safe again and won’t flinch back from the brambles and shadows.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Your focus on your classes is haphazard at best. It lies elsewhere, in traps and hunting techniques, in ways to treat injuries and how to outwit something that kills and supposedly steals souls. You think of the snowstorm last year and invest in a heavy duty winter coat. You think of the darkness and invest in torchlights. You think of the rumors of the swamp grabbing at people and get yourself a good rope. Your teachers despair over your grades, but you pass despite that. Just not with excellent grades.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Your first excursion into the forest is a weekend trip that almost goes wrong. You stumble over roots and swear you saw red strings before you fall flat in front of what is clearly a circle of brambles poised to strike. You know the stories and that those that come back dead eyed tell of the circles that shan’t be entered. You inch up and around it before exhaling and crossing a nearby bridge. Deep cracks marr the stone, and two statues, one of them headless, stand guard at it. You notice the way the twitching shadows on the side you came from eye you up. You see them twitching, spasming and giggling at you, and you think you hear how one of them proclaims you as as good as lost. You don’t like this. But you like the death rate amongst students even less, and so you trudge on into the snow. You need to, so the students will be safe again, because the bramble and shadows won’t keep them as such.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>You find an abandoned manor in the snow, and turn back before you can get a good look at it. The lights are on, but you just know that nothing is in there aside from cobwebs, and so you turn back to the forest and watch in horror as one of your friends stumbles in, calling for you. She notices you, smiles, runs - and steps into the bramble circle. Echoing laughter haunts you since that night, and dead eyes adorn your friend’s face. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>You need to catch the Snatcher, if only so you can get your friend’s soul back. You need to. Her empty eyes make you feel ill.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Your grades suffer almost more than they could bear, but you don’t care. You can’t care. Not when your friend cannot sleep, cannot laugh, cannot cry. She can’t feel and it makes her despair more than even anxiety would. Her body is going through the motions of it all, and you feel the urge, the need to find that purple specter, the need to wring that soul from his grasp before she dies from this apathy.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She doesn’t get up anymore and you cry in her stead. Her pulse still goes strong, she breathes, but she doesn’t try anymore. She tells you of that contract he gave her, pulls it out. It has a wax stamp with a leering grin, and you privately feel as if it doesn’t do the real thing justice. You read the terms, feel your heart sink to your stomach. There is no way to break this contract, except for doing it. You swallow past the bile, and manage a smile for your friend before you grab your coat. You won’t come back for a while. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The forest is cold. You feel it past your coat, and walk towards the manor with purpose in your steps. The contract in your pockets weighs heavy, and you hear how the bridge groans under your weight. You fear that it won’t be there when you come back. If you come back. The shadows snicker at you, but the brambles part. They sense the contract weighing you down. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>You just have to go into the manor. Just go in, get a book. That’s all. Get a book for the Snatcher, and see what lies in the attic. You don’t trust the contract. You also don’t trust the manor, the lights still shining through the snow and frost as if someone is still paying the electric bills. A statue stands vigil in the front, and you have a bad feeling about it. You heard of how the beheaded ones chase people. You quietly sneak to the back instead. The door for the cellar is open instead, and the water inside is stale and reeks. The chains in the wall make you shudder. That they look as if fabric is still caught in them makes it worse, but you can’t see a sign of a body anywhere. And yet, when you press your eyes shut, the outline of a body swims before your eyes, hanging from the chains. You swallow the bile and break open the door instead. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The cobwebs are surprisingly far and few in between, but you tread lightly regardless. Frozen statues stand in corners, eerily reminiscent of what you saw haunting and living in the forest, of people in portraits hanging around the manor itself. They seem too lifelike, too real. Approaching one near the bookcase you find makes you shudder. It’s eyes seem to follow you. You shiver as you roll out the contract, looking for the title of the book. You can’t find it. This bookcase doesn’t contain the book you need, and you basically flee from the room when you get the chance. This manor creeps you out, it’s too lifeless and yet looks too lived in. Recently lived in. You begin to wonder if this is where the Snatcher sends his contractors when he is tired of them.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The second floor is even creepier than the first, in your humble opinion. There is a nursery in it, filled with dust and clearly never used. You inch out from there as fast as you can, and huddle in the bedroom adjacent to it, trying to get your breathing under control. You clutch the key you need to unlock the attic, count to then. Nothing aside from the howling wind of the snowstorm breaks the silence, and when you get up your legs shake less. No one is in here aside from you. The door lock creaks open too loudly for you, but you try to control your breathing. It is in the attic, in a chest, where you find the book you need. You smile grimly, and leave the manor with your head held high.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The Soul Snatcher laughs in your face when you make your demands. He takes the book regardless, before releasing the Soul. You cannot bask in triumph, because he destroys the bridge in front of you with his claws. The abyss is too big for you to cross, and you howl and shriek in rage, left alone as you are. You howl and cry, and clutch the contract until it tears at the sides. You freed your friend, but cannot leave. Not anymore. The bottom of the Abyss blinks at you, and you stomp into the manor with death in your eyes. You do not plan to freeze to death here. You will catch the Snatcher, trapped or not. He is yours to take. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>You stalk the halls of the manor for what feels like eternity, cataloguing every corner and ever cranny. You know it like the back of your hands soon enough, and even the frozen statues don’t bother you anymore after a while. You do not care for them, and avoid looking into the mirror. Your clothes are torn and ripped from your encounter with the Snatcher, and so you take out the old dresses hanging in the closet. You don’t think about how they seem to have been made for your measurements. You don’t think about the way your hair falls past your face, disheveled and tangled, how your hands drive gouges into the pictures on the wall. You plan instead, and frost coats the windows. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Time passes as a blur. You haunt the manor, and two students enter somehow. You hear them from the moment they enter the cellar, and when they enter the manor proper you await them with bloodshot eyes, too long fingernails that resemble claws more than anything, and hiss demands at them. They bolt, they try, but the doors to the cellar slam shut at your command. You cannot remember why this should feel wrong, but you want to know what happened to your friend. Under shivers and tears they tell you of how she seemed livelier after you left, only to end up going into the forest again to look for you. She didn’t make it back this time, and red hot rage takes you over. When it fades, two more statues adorn the hallways. You drive more gouges into the wall, and frost falls from your breath.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>You leave the manor after too much time spent inside. The frost does not bother you, and neither do the statues. Shadows cling to you, your clawed hands scrape against the ice. You will catch him. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to catch him. You just know that he took your friend again. You know it with the same certainty that tells you that the sun comes up in the morning. You will catch him. He is yours to take. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is yours to take</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The bridge barely stops you, ice and snow form a new one that melts behind you. You howl his name, wait for him poised to strike. One of the twitching shadows watches you, wrings their hands, curls up. Your claws tremble, and when both of Them show up, you howl in fury and frost and snow coat the land. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He is yours to take, if it is the last thing you do.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The forest shudders. Its Bane is residing in its mid, locked in conflict and grasping for its Monarch. In this place, where dark things lie and dead things sleep, humans shall not wander. The Snow and hopelessness stole another one’s humanity, twisted ideals and concern into something unrecognizable. Do not dwell in these lands if you value your self and safety.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Extra chapter: A Fire Spirit explores humanity.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest is benign to it's children.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Finn here is the product of a friend suggesting the reverse of the former three chapters. So here you get the one chapter with actually named characters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You have watched them all the time. Ever since the fires birthed you, you watched the humans coming into the forest and dealing with the Monarch. You saw how the Puppeteer came to be, and you saw the Forest’s Bane rise. You helped melt the result of her fury, and now… now you want to see what is outside. You want to see what lies outside the forest.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You are not human, but you are intrigued by them. You are fire, smoke and heat, fleeting and yet consistent. Flesh and corporeal is not on that list. You do not resemble them at all, but you want to. You follow the twitching shadows, talk to them, fidget. Some laugh, some snort, but none of them is mean about it. They suggest things to do instead. Suggest to warp yourself into a vaguely human shape and hide under formless, baggy clothes. To wear sunglasses and pretend to be blind so you wouldn’t need to form eyes. To go for a blonde and tanned look so you wouldn’t have to change your colours too much. You nod and vow to try those out.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Having a human looking body is strange. Your proportions feel off, and they probably are. You are lanky, your arms are too thin and formless, and your voice is hoarse and just a bit too much like crackling fire. But you celebrate this form regardless, and your laughter echoes along with the one of the Monarch and Puppeteer, who both have come by to see why every twitching shadow in the Forest was hollering.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You get a name from one of the twitching shadows. They call you Finn, say it used to be their name. You can use it better than they do, now that you can look human enough. You like the name. Finn makes you distinct from the other Fire Spirits, and you thank the shadow profusely. Another offers you their last name. Finn Johnson. You like the way your name sounds now, and every twitching shadow celebrates for you. They suggest things for you to do, things they always wanted to do before being bound to the Forest. You laugh at that, and try to remember everything.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>One of the twitching shadows snuck out of the Forest and stole clothes for you. You lose your form for a moment, revert back in joy. You twirl around them, not daring to hug them for fear of singing their form to kingdom come. They squint at you in lieu of a smile, and when you drape yourself in the fabric, you try to reign in your heat as much as possible. The fabric feels nice, and your wispy hair falls into your face a bit from the hood of the shirt. You grin wildly, teeth sharp, and fabric draped over yourself.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Having five fingers as opposed to two is something you have to get used to. The Monarch is dogging your step now, grinning over your shoulder and telling stories. He offhandedly mentions that he isn’t too fond of your kin usually because they restrict his freedom in the Forest by dancing, but that you intrigue him. You hope you remember to tell your kin to reign their magic in. You learn more about the Monarch these days than you did ever before. He tells you that he used to have five fingers, but now has two, the exact reverse of your situation. He helps you with coordination. He tells you that you should at least try to form eyes, but to make them pale and cloudy, if you really want to appear blind. You mull it over, before going for a bright blue one. You usually focus your heat stripes around your torso now, but redirecting it is not a problem. The Monarch’s fanged grin grows at the sight. He compliments you on your improving appearance and suggests adding one finger at a time instead of them all at once.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You feel confident in your… skin, you guess. You haven’t singed the fabric in weeks, and only have slip ups with your voice and form when you get angry. Every single twitching shadow, as well as the Monarch and Puppeteer wait at the edge for you, cheer when you leave the Forest without it rearing up. You smile and embers swirl. The Forest supports you. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The campus is different from what you imagined. The stories of the twitching shadows always made you think of it differently, more closed in. You mix yourself amongst the students, disappear in the mass and mingle. You sit in a few classes at the very back, joke shyly with a girl sitting next to you. She offers you a seat next to her at lunch, and you start talking after a while. She asks after your classes, and you panic for a moment before blurting out the classes that the Monarch used to take before the Forest laid claim. She laughs, then asks what you did in Developmental Biology if you weren’t actually taking that class. You wince, and mutter about forgetfulness. She laughs again, smiles at you. You feel warm.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You actually go to one of the classes you blurted out earlier, and meet another person who sits in the very back. They eye you, then hold out one hand for you to shake. They tell you that their name is Sari, and that you better not call them a boy. You accept that, and offer your own name, with a mutter of you not being a boy either. It makes Sari grin and ask if you’re a girl or something else. You opt with the latter, and you get a nod for it. You have a pleasant truce with Sari, and you feel warmth that isn’t from your fire.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You go back to the Forest after the sun goes down. You need your bonfire, or you will burn out in the most horrific way a Fire Spirit can imagine. You don’t see it, but Sari and the girl you met in that first class watch you leave for the forest. They decide not to talk about it, and instead forge a friendship from meeting you. You are crowded the moment you step back into the forest, and you smile as you tell of your day. When you tell them about the slip up at the lunch table, the Monarch howls in laughter, twisting into himself, before declaring you as the best Fire Spirit that he ever met. You go white-hot in embarrassment and almost burn the clothes.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The next day the visit to the campus feels more natural, and you greet both Sari and the other girl with a wave. You get awkward grins back, and the biology girl introduces herself as Becca. You smile at her, and absentmindedly feel your teeth flicker. You need to get some coal somewhere soon. Becca and Sari give each other a look when you don’t see it, before shrugging. Some things are best not spoken about.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You come back every day for a week, before Becca and Sari follow you after curfew. You only notice it when you are back in the Forest proper, and take care to avoid the Bramble of the Monarch. You like these two and don’t want to see them as twitching shadows anytime soon. You flinch guiltily when they both grab your shoulders and turn you around. You croak out a greeting that is more crackling fire than voice. You really should have expected this.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The village of the shadows is aflutter with activity when you lead Becca and Sari there. They gape in awe, before zeroing in on you again. You motion awkwardly to the bonfire in the middle of the village and your dancing kin, before slipping out of the too big hoodie and letting your control over your form slip. Looking like a normal Fire Spirit is strange now, after weeks and weeks of achieving a human look. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The Puppeteer makes an appearance after you reveal yourself, and offers up an explanation in your stead. Your friends listen, frown at the right moments and nod in others. Occasionally they look at you and the bonfire, and how you practically melt into the coals. At the end even the Monarch comes to the gathering, embers swirling in his mouth and golden eyes shimmering with barely concealed mirth. He is amused at your dilemma, and in no way interested in interfering. He drapes himself over the branches of a nearby tree like a snake instead, and hums.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You miss out classes the next day, and already yearn for Becca’s and Sari’s company, but you feel unsure about meeting them, after escorting them back last night. You soak on the coals instead, and sleep the day away until you are unceremoniously deposited before the two humans by the Monarch himself, with the order to scram until you talk it out. You resign yourself to your fate and the questions.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>There are many questions. Mostly about the Forest, what you are, and why you come to the school. They are both intrigued, far more than they should be, and you warn them about the Bramble and tell them that they might become twitching shadows or something else entirely if the Forest lays claim. They shrug and say that their year is still missing a campus cryptid that goes inside the forest before disappearing anyways, might as well make it two or three. You smile a bit at that, and warp your shape again. It sounds like a plan.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The Forest is benign to its children. It watches how the Fire Spirit makes friends, and decides to leave the two humans alone for now. In this place, where dead things sleep, few humans shall wander. These two are safe for now, unless they wish for Change. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Merchant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest hums.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, this is probably not gonna end any time soon, but what <em>will</em> happen is me running out of characters. Only one I can think of anymore is a Subconite. So if you want more, you better suggest some in the comments, but please ones that make sense, yes? Might make this a series if I get enough wishes for other characters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You worry for your students. You lost more of them to the Forest than you’d like, and you fear for those that eye the tangled mass of dead wood and brambles. You worry, and you fear you always will. They are your students after all.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You’ve been a teacher at the school since the days where the forest was there, but not the location where students disappeared. When you started teaching here twenty years ago, it was a forest, plain and simple, and the biggest danger it posed came from falling branches and getting infections from dirt in scrapes. Not from what most students would identify as a Cryptid, and what you identify as a being that kills them. You remember roughly when that started happening, and you also remember the lone student from over six years ago who entered and entered before disappearing. You remember the poor Theater major who got stuck in the snowstorm but always could go into the forest without the repercussions that their peers experienced. You remember the poor girl who disappeared a year after the theater major graduated, after going into the forest so that she could help her friend who ran afoul of that beast the students call the Soul Snatcher. You remember them all, and you grieve for the students you never hear about again after they entered the dark place.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You noticed that new student rather fast, and you use that term loosely. They are shy, and for a while you thought that you might have missed them before due to that. However, they are never in the dorms, and you saw how two other students followed them into the woods. You fear for them, but somehow all three come back unscathed and closer. You keep an eye on them, but nothing happens to them. Their laughs don’t become sharp. Neither do their teeth, and they do not look as if they ran afoul of something. Only the new one flickers, but the other two are seemingly used to it. You wonder, and watch, and eventually see how the flickering student lights themselves on fire when laughing too hard. You hope that they won’t drag the other two into an early grave.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>One student went missing today, and you are on search duty. It’s a morbid one, more so because the other teachers were quick to snatch up the places not in the forest. Every single one of them knows that the student is in there. No one wants to find the body though, and so you are stuck with search duty, and enter the tangle of shadow, wood and gnarled brambles. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The shadows twitch and giggle, and your heart aches whenever you hear that sound. You recognize some of the laughs, of the voices, and it pains you to hear them again, after losing them. You sidestep brambles and red strings, keep away from bushes with glowing, golden eyes and leering grins that promise a drawn out end. You are blindsided by one of the statues running at you, and you run. You run, and run and run, but it keeps pace, and then you stumble, stumble over a broken bridge and slippery stone, and cling to the jagged edges of stone over an abyss. Your grip isn’t steady, you slip, and you can hear that statue come closer. It looms, and you stop holding on when it starts to move again.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You fall, too numb to even scream, before lurching to a halt in front of the darkness in the rend in the ground. Red strings wrap around you, tight and unyielding, and you heard enough to know about the Moonjumper to be afraid. They chuckle, mismatched eyes squinting, and you are thrown back to a school play from three years ago when this exact scene played out, but with you in the audience. You bite your lips so hard they bleed, don’t notice the drops falling into the abyss. You do notice the creature smiling widely, frostbite blue lips cracking and exposing sharp teeth, and how they pull you away from the chasm while humming. They deposit you in front of the edge, next to a student still trembling and with scratches. Their eyes are haunted, but not in the thousand yard stare of those that come back doomed, and you feel carefully optimistic. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Your optimistic feeling disappears shortly after. Your scratches and scrapes are infected, and you still can’t get the last bits of red string out of your clothes. You don’t like how utterly miserable you feel, but the student you pulled out with you was the one who went missing, so you rather bear this than another death. Another disappearance. You sometimes wonder how your school is still allowed to be open with this. You think it has to do with no one wanting to talk about the Forest, despite everyone knowing about it. It’s an open secret that six years ago, the disappearances began. Six years are a lot of time, and people can and do grow used to the most horrific things.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Your last scrapes have barely healed over, and the scars are prominent. You still feel ill. You don’t think the infection ever truly left, it just healed over it. Teaching always brought you joy, but it also is difficult, and you feel that more than ever now. Today, three stay back. You dimly recognize them as the students you watched earlier. You eye them tiredly, wave at them to make them say their piece. The one who flickered all those days ago looks nervous when they just put something on your desk. It’s a small glass, filled with herbs. They say it’s for the scrapes, that they make good tea. You sigh, but muster up a smile and thank you.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The tea does indeed soothe your illness, but you can’t exactly muster up being excited about it, not when you have to enter the tangle of forest again. Another student went missing, this time one of the flickering student’s friends, and the other two are standing anxiously next to you. You learn their names today. Sari and Finn. Finn leads you into the Forest, knows where to step. You swear that they glow. You swear that embers fly off them. You swallow past the lump in your throat when you reach that broken bridge, when you go past it. You pass a clock station and benches. The giant tree in the middle of the clearing is breathtaking, but so is the being sitting inside it, just at the exit of the hollow, embers falling from it’s leering mouth, eyes blazing. You are facing the Soul Snatcher, and Finn is not afraid, but neither is Sari. You dimly feel like they should be. Then again, you probably have enough fear for them both when those golden eyes zero in on you.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You have to explain why you entered the forest. The answer makes the gargantuan being howl in fury, and you can suddenly see how the shadowy fur spikes upwards with hidden brambles, how the fingers suddenly split into three and sharpen into razor sharp claws that are big enough to cleave a human in two. You feel the sudden heat, and how you yourself twitch involuntarily, how your still not quite healed hand spasms in response to the sudden pressure. The anger of the being is palpable, and you feel as if you know that Finn anticipated this, that horrible, burning anger. They themselves are flickering, exposing jagged teeth not human. Their eyes are pale, nearly nonexistent, and their voice resembles fire. It hisses and snaps and crackles. Sari looks grim, turns towards the bridge. The ice feels colder, and your hand spasms.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You learn what happened to the student who went missing from the Moonjumper. Their usual wide smile is gone, and suddenly the frostbite blue of their skin seems threateningly possible. You are afraid of this forest, and suddenly very aware of how little actual damage you yourself have taken from this place. You twitch.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Cold saps your strength, but you soldier on. The twitching of your arms continues, and your fingers spasm into a vaguely clawed shape. Someone took your student, to lure that horridly terrifying specter to them. And you suspect that the one who took your student used to be one themselves. The snow is up to your knees by now. You wonder where it all comes from. Or the giant ice blocks. Finn doesn’t look human anymore. They resemble something else entirely. It calms you somewhat though. Finn is warm. Sari is baring their teeth like an animal, and you fear the repercussions of this. You remember the day you almost fell into the abyss. How your blood did. You feel the calling of a thousand silent voices, feel something utterly Other. You fear the forest and yet it makes you yearn for it. You can feel it.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The manor is terrifying in a different way than the remainder of the Forest. It looks lived in and yet it feels like a graveyard. Finn whispers why. You feel like throwing up, but suppress it in favor of shuddering in revulsion. Utter revulsion. The doors to the cellar throw themselves open as you approach, and Finn stays behind to keep them that way. The Forest’s Bane they call her. She lures them in with sight of a home, then traps them inside. You stumble inside, your limbs feel like jelly. The cellar stinks, but Becca is there. In chains. She looks bad, her hair is matted with red and some places of her skin are disturbingly blue, but she is alive. Your trembling hands fiddle with the chains, unsuccessfully, before Sari snarls and rams what looks suspiciously like lockpicks inside the keyholes. Becca falls into your arms limply, and you get out before the thundering steps from above come closer. The cellar doors slam shut when you get out, but not before you see a shadow of a person with blazing red eyes. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>This forest scares you, and you can’t stop shivering. Finn is barely holding onto looking human when you all stumble out of the forest, and Becca is a wreck. You don’t know when exactly she went missing, or how she was taken, but you know that you should be glad that… that this </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bane</span>
  </em>
  <span> is stuck behind a broken bridge now, the gap of the abyss wider than before. It wasn’t cracked anymore, but cleanly cut. You saw it happen. You are afraid of the forest, and you are afraid of the purplish tint creeping from your scars. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Finn looks horrible when you see them again. they are greyish, and you just know that they are ready to collapse. You certainly are. Your arms spasm still, and your chest constricts rapidly at times. They mutter apologies when they see you, their voice hoarse and almost gone. You ask them why they don’t go back to the forest, to heal or sleep, or whatever they do there. You tell them that you saw them go back before. They reply that they haven’t gone back because they watched over Becca. That the Bane usually freezes her victims solid. You feel sick again, but pull them closer to the Forest despite their feeble protests. You grit your teeth, move past the bramble without looking. You don’t notice how Finn goes silent and still at that, not until they motion towards the other side of the path from the bridge. The village is odd, but you keep quiet. When you see the vulpine beings dancing around a bonfire, you make the connection to Finn. They just sigh, before leaning into the fire. When you leave the Forest, they look healthier, but your own skin is darker, and new scrapes adorn your skin. Finn worries.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You can’t teach today, and instead sit in your home coughing like crazy. Your arms can’t stop spasming anymore, barely a minute goes by without them moving. You sway, and your legs feel a bit too weak to carry your body. It has patches that look unnatural, almost black. Your fingers feel clunky, and you dig out your grandfather’s old walking cane, learn to rely on it. One of your eyes is drooping, your throat feels raw. You have a fitful sleep, and when you go back to the campus the next day, Finn wordlessly hands you jars you saw two times before. Filled with swamp water and with gently glowing mushrooms. Lightly singed wood chips for you accompany this. You sigh at the sight of his expression. Oh the irony.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You can’t walk without the cane at all anymore. You twitch and spasm, your arms are perpetually hidden under long sleeves, and you take to wearing a shawl to hide the creeping colour on your neck. You suppose you might hand in your resignation soon. Few teachers have noticed your ailments, and you want to keep it that way. You cough and hide the way your torso doesn’t look like a torso underneath wide clothes. The headmaster accepts your resignation without any comment, but he wishes you luck. You suppose that you will need it.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It’s as if parting from the school broke the dam. You wake up to hands that splinter apart and reform, to your body flickering, and odd proportions that do not work. You pack up your things that day, and leave your apartment vacant. The Forest welcomes you with open arms.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You ache, and flit in and out of reality. Your sight is atrocious, one eye nearly incapable of sight, the other one glowing sickly green. You take up residence in the Forest village, and some of the twitching shadows bring you a new walking stick soon. It makes you smile tiredly, and another brings you mismatched clothes stolen from the theater classes when your own clothes refuse to comply with your proportions and twitching. A mask is the next thing you recieve. It’s given to you by the Moonjumper, with a knowing smile on their face. You proceed to hide your own behind the mask, and soon enough you can feel.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Finn, Sari and Becca come by occasionally. The last two almost didn’t recognize you. You certainly don’t resemble the teacher you used to be anymore, and you as well as your clothes fade in and out of reality at random moments. You apologize endlessly for it, but they don’t really mind. Becca has shimmering scars now. One is from frostbite. Two look like claw marks. Too slender for the being you call Monarch now. You adopted the speech habits of the Forest Dwellers quickly. Sari and Becca both wish you luck and that you find a purpose. They suggest to travel, if the Forest allows it. You tell them you will think about it. You might do it. Go where your body phases.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <span>The Forest hums. </span>
  <span>The Merchant joins its growing community. They shall travel. In this place, where dark things lie and the dead sleep, humans shall not wander. It knows more ways than one to keep those it likes, and those who know about its dangers.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Actor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest watches</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to @CreepyFuzzyMelon and an anon that called themselves Notgoodatnames for suggesting the Shapeshifter as a possible character! So here you two go, I hope you like it. ^^<br/>I certainly am more happy with this chapter than the one before.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You go to the school despite the rumors. You heard them all, like everyone else who comes here, and you aren't dissuaded. No one is. You don't know why, but you assume it's the possible presence of a cryptid. You are new, barely a week into the daily grind, when you meet your first dead eyed student.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You decided to go for a theater major, but you don't understand why you get side eyed for it. Not until you hear of the theater major who was a puppeteer and almost died in frost and snow. You are intrigued, look at the puppets, and feel the stares as you do so. The red strings on them glisten like new, despite being years old by now. It makes you nervous, but you grin despite it, and vow to draw one of them at some point. Your classmates watch you, and you feel the stares dig into you.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You walk and watch, a sketchbook in hand, and draw whenever you get the chance for it. Drawing helps you imagine characters to play, helps you to calm down if the hubbub gets too much. You draw, sketchy, fully fleshed, with acrylic paint, with crayons, with every medium you can get. At some point you try to draw what lies in the forest, but based on the descriptions you only manage something vaguely cartoons. You feel as if it doesn't do the real thing justice, but you never saw the Soul Snatcher. You only hear of him, never see. You look at the looming forest, wonder. You wonder, and contemplate your chances of entering without harm.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You lurk at the edge of the forest, paint on your skin drying and cracking. You lurk and paint eyes on your skin to appear less human, less like a target for the forest. The possibility of it making you more of a target doesn't enter your mind. You lurk, and when you enter with still drying paint on your arms you hold your breath.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The forest is dark, the air almost oppressive. You walk carefully, steps small and measured as if you walk on a tightrope, often stand to just listen. You hear the rustle of leaves, the crackling of a fire, the snickering. You are self conscious of the eyes on your skin, but you walk on, evade the almost grasping branches and twisted roots, sit down in a place that faces the swamp. Behind you, a frozen house crumbles slowly, and you draw bones too large to be human. You draw a swamp that reaches, floating bells and intangible branches, before you pack up to move back. The paint on your skin is dry, it cracks, but it doesn't bother you. You walk back to the edge without a problem, and feel the eyes in your neck. You imagine that they are golden and leering.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Washing off the paint seems like shedding a skin. You don't remember the pattern, it was random, but you think about using a similar tactic when you go back. Your pictures came out nicely, and the forest has a lot of motives to use. You hang the pictures in your dorm and endure the stares of your dorm mates. One of them looks at you with pity, another with barely concealed horror. You wonder why, before you look into the mirror. You rubbed your skin raw when washing off the paint, and look like you have a particularly bad sunburn. You can't find it in yourself to care.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You excel in your classes, and net a spot in the next school play. You grin widely, can't stop to do so all day, and paint on the eyes again when your classes are over. You feel like making a celebratory painting of the giant tree in the middle of the forest. You pack your supplies and step amongst the brambles and branches. The eyes dry quickly.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The tree is hard to miss, and it glows from the inside with an almost eerie light. You lean against the trunk of a tree on the edge of the clearing and begin to sketch, sink into our work before you notice that the tree isn't empty. That the clearing isn't empty. Golden eyes and a leering grin peer at you, looking up from a book. You feel cold, but sit still and try to focus on your canvas instead. It's hard, now that you know that the eyes are actually there, that the owner knows you have been there the entire time. You remember feeling like this one before, when you were still a kid and tried stealing apples from your neighbor's tree, only to notice them watching you when you tried to take off with your spoils. You grip your brush harder, and the paint on the back of your hand cracks.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You refuse to go back to the forest after this, and the painting sits on your desk half finished. Your skin is red and raw, and you take up sewing to distract yourself from the painting of a tree sitting in a clearing. You sew yourself a hoodie, a mismatched mess of fabric and starkly visible black thread. It's not even close to being good, but it's comfortable. You burrow into the fabric, skin still red. You avoid looking at the painting, and instead stare out of the window at the forest.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You are allowed to wear your hoodie in the play. Your teacher loves it, and you get a role out of it that is interesting. You play a trickster now, and the loose strips of fabric at the end of your sleeves are easily changed into almost-gloves so you can fit your fingers inside. Your hoodie is unique, and while you always change it piece by piece, it always looks like a grade schoolers first sewing. You really don't mind, and it makes your too serious classmates crack a smile if you come in, some bits and pieces of paint still on your face, and hands buried in the overly long sweater.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You end up in the forest anyways. Someone thought it funny to get you filled up at a party, then dare you in here, with your hoodie on the line if you don’t go. And so you bared your teeth and staggered inside, hands buried inside the fabric and no paint on your skin aside from the old and almost gone remnants of your last painting. You laugh at yourself, sink against a tree and scare one of those twitching things hiding in the shadows with how loud it is. You always had a loud laugh. This time it’s a bit hysterical, and your arms hang over your knees like badly made ragdolls. They look longer now that you pulled your hands out of the almost-gloves and the sleeves flop on the ground. You laugh, and feel like crying. The almost hysterical giggling of you ends up devolving into just that. You came back despite not wanting to. All because you got drunk.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You stay in the forest for longer than you should out of pure spite towards the one who gave you that dare. You stay until footsteps approach, and you see three upperclassmen. One of them looks at you with a curious expression, hidden in their own hoodie, before sighing. They escort you back to the campus, and you startle when you see that the sun has risen outside. You spent the night inside the forest without noticing. You stayed the night without paint drying on your skin, and with bruises forming from your meltdown and the resulting tree punching. You hate parties.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You stumble back into class the next day, and bare your teeth at the guy who dared you to go into the forest. It’s a blatant mockery of a smile, and every single student in the class knows it. You lord your survival over him, and laugh. It sounds manic.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You feel the eyes on you, and in response you paint them on your skin even when not going inside the forest. The paint doesn’t flake, doesn’t crack. It’s not visible, wrapped in your hoodie as you are, but they are there. Over bruises, over your ribs, over your arms and the insides of your hands. Only your face and legs are free, but one is glad tightly in self made pants and the other has a perpetually manic smile. You don’t get invited to parties anymore. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You can’t wash the eyes off, and the bruises don’t heal.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You wander, enter the forest that scares you. You are out after curfew but don’t care. You have torn out patches of your hoodie, the tissue below an almost unfathomable black. You don’t think you will leave again. You blink. The eyes move, and you laugh. You laugh, fall over, and feel how the patchwork of your hoodie tears up in more places, exposes void black and gaping eyes that move. You laugh and see twitching shadows flee. You laugh, close your eyes. You open twenty.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You don’t leave, and instead lurk at the edge, see how they skitter and become frantic with your disappearance. You laugh at them, feel your eyes wander and your shape distort. You wrap your elongated body around the tree you sat on a minute ago, and scare someone with the leering grin and gold eyes before sitting on the tree again. You laugh and see how they skitter.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The Forest watches. The actor graces it’s presence, humanity lost in defense mechanisms. </span>
  <span>In this place, where dark things lie and the dead sleep, humans shall not wander. It knows how to twist defenses and warp the ones who hide.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Extra chapter: How to become a Subconite</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Forest celebrates</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So guys, this is the last chapter for this. However... you may have noticed something. This... is gonna be a series. The plot bunnies won't die, and since writing is currently my only method to wind down after school, I try to write something new soon enough. I hope you like this one, and that the next part of this works as well. Because I really hope it does.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You curse loudly when you enter the forest. A crow stole your glasses, and you can barely hobble after them with your leg still wrapped in that cast. Your voice echoes through the woods, and you swear the damn bird is laughing at you when it finally drops your glasses. Your cursing becomes louder at that. Finding those damn things on the ground is gonna be a tedious job. Sometimes you wonder why you didn’t go for contact lenses. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You don’t get to look for your glasses for long. Brambles obstruct your way when you see them glint on the ground, and you hear your blood rushing through your ears, right before raucous, echoing laughter invades your ears. You shiver and your mouth suddenly feels dry. The one being in the entire Forest that you wanted to avoid is looming above you. And looks positively gleeful.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Your hands shake and you squint up at the gargantuan specter above you. He waves around his arms, but where you might compare it to one of those inflatable tube things at any other point, right now it was threatening. Those fingers were on the edge of turning into claws, and the embers from the fanged grin scald your skin. You shiver despite that, simultaneously too hot and too cold, watch as he rolls out a piece of paper in front of you, quill next to it. You barely listen, squint at the paper. You can hardly make out the words, and end up yanking the paper as close to your face as you can. You get a tap on your shoulder a moment later, and your glasses get handed to you. The sight would be comical, of those giant hands giving you your glasses, but you really can’t laugh right now. You still mind your manners, croak out a thank you, and look at the contract. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You sign against your better judgement, remember the way the other students talked about this. One tried to refuse, but thought better. You can imagine why, now that you are in that situation. Your hand shakes, and your handwriting with a quill is atrocious, but the leering, fanged grin gets wider after you take the quill from the paper. It rolls up by itself after a wax stamp is planted onto it, and you get told to take all the time you need, with a less than subtle nod at your leg. Then, a lurch. And emptiness. Oh.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You stumble onto campus, glasses scratched up, and with dead eyes. You know that at this point, you probably won’t experience graduation. Few who walk with eyes like yours ever do. You can’t really care anymore. You literally can’t. And so you use your newfound apathy to work through the classwork left over. You don’t sleep, and hand in a sixteen page essay the next day.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Your leg is sore and still in a cast when you stomp into the forest again. You finished all your classwork, and end up hobbling through the pathways to do the rather menial task of playing mailman on crutches. One of those twitching shadowy things offers to help you carry the packages, an offer you gladly take them up on. Their voice reminds you of that one upperclassman you encountered when you visited the school to see if you wanted to go there. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Mailman duty is surprisingly light. You can rest on benches scattered around, and that little shadow follows you around dutifully. You think that they would smile at you if they could. You also get a… badge, of sorts, by the Soul Snatcher, with a wink on top. That would probably disturb you, if you still had the capability of that. Now it just makes the entire situation awkward. For both of you.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You hand that contract of yours to the Soul Snatcher without a big ceremony when you deliver the last of your packages. He does enough ceremonial gestures for both of you, and checks that part off with great flourish. The next one is not exactly doable for you just yet. Well-cleaning has to wait until your leg isn’t halfway encased in plaster and you can step on it without wobbling. You resign yourself to a long few weeks and buy video games to pass the night with.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The one good thing you take away from this debacle is the lack of anxiety in exams. And that you actually can stay up all night doing whatever you want to do. You manage to beat your own records at speedrunning games thrice. You finish more assignments on the side, all longer than the one before. It’s one way to pass time, you guess. Before you know it, the cast can be taken off. You manage a smile, before promptly shuddering at the idea of cleaning a well. Huh. Good to know that disgust still works. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The well is inside the grabby swamp, and you really, really don’t know what else you expected. You trudge through the sludge, your trusty shadow companion at your side. The sludge literally clings to you, and you spend several minutes getting it off your clothes before you get introduced to the insanity that are the bells. You feel more like you are in a video game than anything else, tell your shadowy companion that as well. They laugh, and say that they thought that as well when they were new here. When you reach the top of the well, you stare down the hole dubiously, and get handed an umbrella. You raise an eyebrow when you’re told that you basically have to pull a Mary Poppins. You end up going down that way, but take the shadow with you. They ain’t as happy about that, but comply anyways.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You grumble and groan about this forest, about the mechanics of these weird badges, and a lot more. There isn’t heat behind it, but you end up using that strange hookshot mechanic to get out of the way of the rising water masses, and literally wring the neck of the shadow. You really don’t know what happened to your life. You groan when you get told that that was a job well done, but that this wasn’t everything yet. Your contract has all the tasks checked off. You look up at the behemoth of a forest dweller, and feel your heartbeat and the blood rushing through your ears. You think your shadowy companion is looking at you sadly. You can’t really tell, what with them having only one eye instead of a proper face.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You are brought into a place resembling a lab. It creeps you out a bit, but the size makes it almost worse. It’s the workplace of the Soul Snatcher, and you feel his eyes on you. You can’t feel them for much longer, not when he dangles your Soul around in front of you, right before you are swallowed up by painful light. You barely notice falling onto the ground, much less when everything goes dark.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Next thing you know, you are… something. Not human, that’s for sure. You also have the worst out of body experience ever, courtesy of your own corpse in front of you. And a plush resembling doll right next to you. A leering grin, and explanation. You hiss and thrash around, but ultimately go along with the proposal. You aren’t keen on staying around as a ghost that can’t interact with something, not when your soul is already bound to this damn forest, courtesy of that damn contract. You still cuss at the guy. And you probably always will.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>You take up the role your former shadowy companion has played for you. They say their name used to be Maya, and that they took it upon themselves to show the “newbies” around, to keep them alive as long as possible until it really comes to an end. You like that idea, and end up joining forces with them. You still hope your first “job” as a guide won’t come any time soon.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <span>The Forest celebrates. Another one joins it’s folds, the village grows. </span>
  <span> In this place, where dark things lie and the dead sleep, humans shall not wander. The Monarch picks them off easily.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Bush-dweller</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The forest watches. <br/>(Or: what happens if an animal enters)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks to @DawnTheMultishipper you guys get <em>one</em> more chapter as a treat. They wanted to see a Rough Patch, and so you get what happens if a cat enters the Forest.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Forest on the campus has been here for longer than she was alive. She has heard of what happened to those that entered, and it makes her apprehensive. She isn't like the others. She isn't one of them. She is a stray. A simple stray, and she isn't sure how it will affect her survival. But the winter is coming, and snow avoids the majority of the forest. And so she enters, paws shaking.</p><hr/><p>She hides in bushes, in hollow trees, and in small burrows. She feels the eyes on herself, eyes that make her fur stand on end. At one point the owner of them reveals itself. She hisses, bats at the long fabric of their sleeves before turning tail and running when the being breaks out in deranged wheezing. Not here.</p><hr/><p>The Village welcomes her, and many of the twitching two-legs coo over her with two-toned voices and gentle scratches. She learns to not let the glowing ones come near her fur if she doesn't want to be singed, but their bonfire makes an excellent hearth of warmth for the night. She purrs, and the one that walks amongst the two-legs even pets her.</p><hr/><p>Another comes to see her, and she gets to play a bit. They dangle strings from their hands, and she happily bats at them while yowling. Eventually someone else joins the floating thread-dangler, with eyes as yellow as her own and fangs just as sharp. Maybe even sharper. She squints at the newcomer, before deciding that that one seems most dangerous. She inhales. The yellow-eyed one smells of fire, of the Forest. Oh. That is his territory. </p><hr/><p>The yellow-eyed one takes her by the scruff, and takes her to a big tree. It smells of Yellow-eye. He takes her to his den, and she ends up curling up on one of his chair arms, purring lowly. They end up existing alongside each other for a while, and soon enough two fingers bury themselves in her fur, and she melts under the contact. She doesn't understand why the Two-Legs fear this place so much, not when almost every creature she met so far has been nice to her.</p><hr/><p>Her fur has become thicker lately. She thinks it's her winter coat finally coming in, and she doesn't care much. The Yellow-eyed one however fussed over her pelt, and prods her tail where stripes are by now. She thinks its because she has been sleeping on those glowing mushrooms lately. Dust from them. It certainly coats her paw pads, and makes them glow. She just purrs and headbutts the Yellow-eyed one when he looks at her with a frown. </p><hr/><p>Leaves. Leaves everywhere in her pelt, and she can't clean them out. Running through that hedge wasn't a bright idea, but at the same time her only way to escape that… that thing with its eyes. It laughed at her, voice shrill, before trying to grab her. She runs, heading to the village. She yowls, and the glowing ones rise up while the twitching two-legs catch her and hide her in their tree-stump homes. Outside she hears the many-eyed one screech and cackle, before fleeing, and she trembles. Leaves stick to her pelt, and she doesn't try to clean them. They might hide her the next time that thing gives chase.</p><hr/><p>The Yellow-eyed one sighs when he sees her, grabs her by the scruff like he did before. She lazily bats at his mane, but ends up slumping in the grip. Later, in the tree-den, she curls up in his lap, shaking still. The foliage in her pelt doesn't bother her much anymore.</p><hr/><p>The Forest watches. Another joined the fold, and while hunted does not cower. The forest hasn't been this alive in ages. In this place, where dark things lie and the dead sleep, beings shall not wander. The Forest does not differ between humans and animals.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
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